


Baby Please Come Home

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My car got stuck in a blizzard and yours was the only house with lights on."</p><p>Bellamy's stranded on Christmas Eve, and the last person he expects to run into in the middle of nowhere is Clarke Griffin, his former best friend and almost...something. </p><p>[Written for the bellarke.com advent calendar]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Please Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title is obviously taken from the song "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" which is a classic, so hit that up if you haven't already.

“Fuck.”

Bellamy can feel the cold seeping into his fingers as he turns the key in the ignition one more time. Like the other ten times, it stutters, but refuses to turn over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles again. It makes him feel vaguely better, but not enough. Octavia’s always bugging him about his shitty old car, and now she’s going to be right, _and_ he’s going to miss Christmas Eve with her. Probably Christmas altogether, actually, given his current situation of _stuck on the side of the road in a fucking blizzard_ , he thinks angrily.

He drops his head back against his seat. Octavia will be fine, ultimately. She’s with her new girlfriend, who Bellamy was supposed to meet tonight. They never do anything big for Christmas Eve, just dinner at home and a movie, but he’s still bummed to miss it. At least she’s not alone, and she’ll probably have a good night with her girlfriend.

But Bellamy’s stuck in a broken down car that’s getting colder by the second, two hours away from his home but still an hour’s drive from the city and Octavia, while something very near to a blizzard showers down around him. He knows he can’t stay in the car. He’s got an overnight bag with some clothes, and an emergency pack in the trunk, but the flimsy foil blanket won’t stand up to what will soon be negative temperatures.

He shrugs on his coat, already cringing at the thought of the cold outside as he pulls on a pair of mittens.

He steps out, flashlight in one hand while he grabs his bag from the backseat and swings it over his shoulder. He’s not sure what’s ahead on the highway, but he knows he passed a town not too far back. Although that seems relative now. Was it only a mile ago? Two? _Please let it only be a mile back_ , he thinks, as he turns in that direction and starts walking.

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he reaches the turnoff from the highway and starts toward a community of small houses, the road lit by dim street signs. It could have been twenty minutes, or it could have been an hour. All Bellamy knows is that he’s pretty sure he’s been cold his entire life. He can’t quite remember what it feels like to have toes, and can’t imagine being too warm ever again.

He’s contemplating the stupid way his eyes water in cold temperatures when he realizes that of the dozen houses on the lane he’s trekking toward, only one has any lights on. It’s kind of hard to miss actually, because they don’t just have lights on, they have what seems like _every_ light on. The whole roof is canvassed in pulsing rainbow-colored lights, the windows are lined from the inside with classic white Christmas lights, the bushes around the yard are draped with red, and the walkway to the front door has those electric candy canes illuminating the path.

He stops in his tracks, taking a moment to glance around the street again. _God, anything but this_ , he thinks, but every other house is darkened, not a single sign of life on the street besides the slight thumping of music he can hear from the extremely festive house in front of him.

He walks up the path, crunching through the fresh snow, and knocks. He’s preparing his speech in his head, _hi, I’m really sorry, my car broke down and my phone doesn’t have service and_ —when he hears footsteps approaching the door, which quickly swings open.

“Hi!” a dark-haired girl shouts enthusiastically, a red cup in one hand as she gestures him in with the other. “Come in! Let’s get you a drink!”

She grabs his hand and pulls him along behind her, and he’s so taken aback that he doesn’t do anything but follow.

Until they reach the kitchen, and he stops short, his hand falling out of the girl’s as she keeps moving forward.

“Clarke?” he asks, the name slipping out of his mouth before he can stop it. He hasn’t seen her in a year and a half, and she’s the last person he expected to find in a random house in a random town after his car broke down, but here she is, putting cookies on a baking sheet.

She turns, and maybe it’s stupid and cliché, but he can’t help thinking that she looks more beautiful than ever. She was always beautiful, so it’s probably just that he hasn’t seen her in a long time. He hasn’t been desensitized to her beauty by exposure, or whatever. She’s wearing a cheesy Christmas sweater and an antler headband, and to her credit, she looks as shocked as he does.

“Bellamy?” She looks at the bag on his shoulder, then back to his face, her expression confused.

He puts the speech to use. “Um, my car broke down, on the side of the road a mile or two back, and my phone’s not working, and I couldn’t stay in the cold so I just started walking, and this house is the only one on the whole street with any lights on, and she,” he gestures to the girl who dragged him into the kitchen, “just kind of brought me in without asking why I was here…”

“Maya doesn’t have great alcohol tolerance,” Clarke says, as if this explains everything. “And it’s my house,” she adds, and that actually _does_ explain a lot.

“You always were too festive for your own good,” Bellamy says.

Clarke half-smiles. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

He shrugs. He did, but that was a long time ago. Or maybe it wasn’t that long, but he feels like it’s been ages.

The moment of soft eye contact is broken when someone else walks into the kitchen, a girl with bronze skin and brown hair, a body built like a goddess but with a brace on her left leg.

“Who’s this?” she asks, frowning at him and turning to Clarke.

“This is Bellamy, he’s had some car trouble and he’s going to be staying with us tonight,” Clarke says easily.

“No, that’s really not—” Bellamy starts, but she cuts him off.

“We’d be happy to. Where else are you going to go?”

He rolls his eyes, which means she’s right, and Clarke knows that’s what it means. She grins.

The other girl looks between them. “Bellamy…like, _the_ Bellamy? From—”

“Yes Raven,” Clarke cuts her off quickly, “that Bellamy.” She turns away from Raven, looking at him, ignoring his raised eyebrows.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the spare bedroom to put down your stuff.”

He can’t really do anything but follow.

 

“Uh, so that was Raven. We share the house,” Clarke says, as she leads him up the stairs.

She opens a door, and there’s a sizable guest room on the other side, with a queen bed neatly made up.

“The room’s yours for as long as you need it, and the bathroom is just across the hall.”

“Thanks,” he says, feeling awkward alone with her, which is stupid, because they were never awkward before. They were easy and comfortable and simple.

“Could I use your phone? I need to tell Octavia I’m not going to make it, and mine doesn’t have any service here…”

“Sure,” Clarke pulls her cell phone from her back pocket and hands it over. “One of the burdens of living in a small town, I’m afraid,” she says with a quirk of her lips.

She stands in the doorway as he calls his sister, explaining the situation, and when Octavia weasels out of him that he’s staying with his old friend Clarke, her reaction is strikingly similar to Raven’s when she heard his name. But Octavia assures him that she’ll be fine without him, can spend the rest of Christmas with her girlfriend’s family, since they live in the city, and tells him to _have fun_ in a suggestive tone that he hopes Clarke can’t hear.

He hands the phone back, thanking her, and turns to his duffel bag, determined to at least _do_ something, even if Clarke is going to keep standing there. He’s pulling out his pajamas when Clarke seems to burst.  
“You can clean yourself up if you want, but you’re going to come join the party, right?”

“Um, do you want me to?” he asks.

“Well you can’t just sit up here by yourself. It’s not even nine o’clock!”

“I’d be fine. I’ve got a book.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. But you should come down to hang out with us. At the very least, it’s free alcohol, right? You can even wear the pajamas, if you want.”

“I think I’ll survive without them,” he says, and it’s just a hint of the sarcasm and playfulness they used to have around each other, but it feels a little like relief, something small slotting into place between them.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he shrugs, determined not to care, but the way she whispers “okay,” and the smile that crosses her face before she turns away nearly wrecks him. He could have had her, if everything hadn’t…he shakes his head at the thought, hearing her footsteps down the stairs. He won’t let himself feel bitter, just because circumstances made him responsible for Octavia. He wouldn’t have let anyone take his place anyway, so there’s no point dwelling on it now.

He takes off his shoes, which are soaked through and freezing, and changes into a new pair of jeans and a blissfully dry sweatshirt.

When he makes it back downstairs, Raven plants a Santa hat on his head and says, “there you go, lover boy,” in a smug tone.

“Uh, thanks?” he says, but she’s already heading toward someone else.

Clarke approaches, and he’s caught for a moment staring before he realizes that she wants to introduce him to everyone. He follows her around, meeting Monty and Jasper, the latter of whom is very blatantly hitting on Maya, though she seems much more interested in the girl with dirty blonde hair across the room, who he learns is Harper. There’s a guy named Wells, who Clarke describes as her childhood friend, rolling his eyes at Raven’s attempt to put gift wrapping bows on his sweater, though he’s smiling. Monroe hands Bellamy a cup of holiday punch, which is actually spicy and quite good, and a huge guy named Lincoln has taken over the cookies that Clarke was making earlier.

Bellamy’s not really in the mood to socialize, but he doesn’t want to act like a dick after Clarke took him in, so he walks the room, getting to know everyone. Wells tells him stories of Clarke as a little kid, Monty talks to him about video games, and Maya, tipsy and enthusiastic, makes him sing Christmas carols with her. As far as Christmas Eves go, it’s not completely terrible.

 

Clarke’s had two cups of punch, watched Bellamy charm her friends, and eaten a questionable amount of cookies. Raven’s assured her multiple times that _Bellamy can’t stop looking at you, you idiot_ , but Raven also seems to have a very skewed view of the situation. _I’m just saying_ , she’d pushed, _you two liked each other before, right? So why not now?_

Clarke couldn’t find the energy to tell Raven that she _had_ been absolutely positive that Bellamy liked her _before_ , practically giddy with the knowledge that her best friend wanted her the way she wanted him, but when he got the call about his mom’s cancer in the middle of their first real date, immediately moved home to take care of his sister, and proceeded to return exactly one of her calls over the next several months, she sort of lost her belief that she could read how he felt. Raven already knows the story anyway, she just seems to think it can be put aside now. And it probably could, Clarke thinks, if she could only understand what Bellamy has been thinking for the last year and a half.

She _thought_ it was supposed to be their first real date. They’d both just graduated, Bellamy with his masters and Clarke from undergrad, and had agreed to go out, just the two of them, to celebrate. There’d been a reservation at an Italian restaurant, and Bellamy in slacks and a button-up, the sleeves rolled up his forearms in that way that practically made Clarke’s mouth water. Clarke had worn a dress and heels, makeup that brought out her eyes, and curled her hair into soft, loose ringlets. She saw the way his eyes popped when he saw her, and he’d held her hand as they walked inside, and it was all going swimmingly, until his phone rang in the middle of appetizers.

Then he was driving her home, and even as she tried to tell him that it was okay, _of course it was okay_ , he kept apologizing. And even as she told him that she would help with anything he needed, her stomach was sinking. She could feel him closing off right beside her, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. She knew what it was like to have a dead parent, but she didn’t know what it was like to _watch_ one die, and she didn’t know what it was like to have to take responsibility for a younger sibling when the worst happened.

Bellamy drove home the next day, and though she’d told him she would help pack up his apartment whenever he needed, he didn’t even tell her when he came back to town to do so. She only knew when his mom died because, in a moment of desperation, she’d friend requested Octavia on facebook.

 _Jesus Christ, I am not thinking about this on Christmas Eve_ , she thinks angrily, and turns toward the kitchen to get another cup of punch, but the breath is knocked out of her when she runs face-first into a broad chest, Bellamy’s hands grabbing her arms to steady her.

“Fuck, sorry,” she says, refusing to look at his face.

“Oh my god, look!” Raven suddenly shouts from across the room. “Clarke and Bellamy are under the mistletoe!”

Clarke feels her heart drop. “Goddammit, Raven,” she mutters under her breath. She’s positive that Raven won’t give a shit if anyone else actually kisses under the mistletoe hanging over the doorway of the kitchen, but of course she’s going to make sure she and Bellamy do.

Bellamy’s clearly looking to her for direction, so she turns her head and points to her cheek. She closes her eyes, and when she feels his lips pressing to her skin, warm and firm, she tries not to let him hear the way her breath hitches.

Her friends make taunts about it not being a real kiss, but she just turns on her heel, flips them off over her shoulder, and walks out the front door.

 

It only takes a moment, and then Bellamy’s rushing after her.

She’s sitting on the porch steps when he walks out, and she doesn’t look up when he sits next to her. The blizzard’s calmed down a bit since he’s been in the house, but it’s still freezing.

“How’s Octavia?” she asks, before he can say anything. “You said you were driving to see her? Where is she?”

“She’s good. She graduated from high school in June.”

Clarke nods. She saw the pictures on facebook.

“She’s a freshman at state now. We decided that I would come to her for Christmas, since there’s not really much at home for her anyway.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“Teaching at the community college back home. And bartending, too, to help O with tuition. You?”

“Graphic design.” She shrugs. “I can do most of my work remotely, and I go into the city when I need to. A few painting commissions too.”

Clarke’s hugging her knees to her chest, and he’s unsure if he should bring up the mistletoe or not. She saves him the trouble of wondering for long though.

“Bellamy why didn’t you ever call me back? Even just to talk? I wouldn’t have expected anything from you.”

He exhales heavily, trying to find words that won’t sound terrible. “I’m sorry, I really am. I just…God, Clarke, I was such a mess. My whole life was in shambles and I didn’t know what to do. And I knew that you would be there, if I asked you to, but I didn’t want to put that on you.”

“You didn’t have to! You could have just talked to me,” she looks away, her voice thick, and it makes his gut twist.

“No, I couldn’t,” his voice is rough. “I was completely fucked up and there’s no way I could have talked to you without asking for _you_ , too. I knew myself well enough to know that, at least.”

“I would have,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “Whatever you’d asked, I would have.”

“Which is exactly why I couldn’t,” he says, but she counters quickly, her volume rising.

“It’s exactly why you should have!” Her voice quiets again, “I know we only knew each other for a year, but you were my best friend, Bellamy. And then everything happened and I didn’t even know what to do? I wanted to help you but you never responded, so every time I called I felt like I was intruding, or bothering you, or that maybe, maybe, you’d get back to me when things were going better. But you never did.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I really missed you,” she whispers.

His head drops in shame. “I missed you too. And you were…you were my best friend, also.”

“I know that, you idiot,” she huffs, and he’s grateful for the tiny smile he can hear in her voice. “I was the only person you ever bothered to socialize with, of course I was your best friend.”

“I really am sorry. By the time things were going okay, I thought…I don’t know,” he looks out, over the expanse of freshly fallen snow burying the walkway, and the lights lining everything. “I thought that you must have moved on.”

She stands up to walk back into the house.

“You really are an idiot,” she says, but her voice is fond, at least.

He can’t help smiling.

 

They don’t talk much for the rest of the party, but Bellamy learns that pretty much everyone is going to be spending the night at the house, besides Lincoln, who apparently walked to the party and plans on walking home, blizzard be damned. So Bellamy wanders up to the guest room when everyone else starts to look tired, and he’s propped up in bed reading when he hears a knock on the door.

“Come in?”

Clarke opens the door and peaks in, her sparkly eye makeup gone, her face scrubbed clean and pink, wearing a pajama jumper that does not seem fit for winter and nearly makes Bellamy swallow his tongue.

“Jasper passed out in my bed, even though I _specifically_ told him not to,” she says, “and I’d rather sleep next to you than him. Do you mind?”

“Uh, no, that’s fine,” he says, although his mind suddenly feels like floating.

He makes room for her on one side, and she crawls in, pulling the covers up to her chin and looking up at him.

“I’m glad I got to see you again,” she says softly. “Even if it’s only for a little while.”

He would be happy, but her voice is so resigned, it feels like she’s declaring something final, and it’s not what he wants. He doesn’t know what to say though, just looks down at her for a moment before returning to his book. He tries to read for another minute, but he’s too distracted to focus, so he turns out the light and then slides down next to her.

“Have you dated?” he asks, before he can think too hard about it.

Clarke laughs. “I’ve had a disaster or two. That’s actually how Raven and I met—her boyfriend started dating me while he was still with her.”

“What the fuck, seriously?”

“Yeah, he was a dick. Luckily I found out pretty quickly, and it did end up working in our favor, since Raven needed a roommate a few months later. I’d been planning on getting out of the city, so.”

“Damn.”

“Yep. And then there was this girl, but she was really emotionally unavailable, so it fizzled out fast. There’s only so far you can get with someone who’s hot but won’t ever talk about anything real, you know? Have you dated?”

“Not much. A few hookups, but it was weird when I had Octavia at home. There was never anyone that I wanted something serious with.”

It’s mostly the truth. The other part of it is that he never felt as strongly about anyone else as he had about Clarke, so even when he wasn’t consciously comparing her to others, things still felt off.

It’s quiet between them for a moment before Clarke mumbles, “Are you doing better now?”

“Yeah, I’m better now,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about moving, actually.” His voice is quiet, testing the words, which he hasn’t shared with anyone yet, and which seem a lot more appealing now than they did before he saw Clarke.

She turns to face him, though she can’t see more than his profile in the dark.

“Where?”

He shrugs. “Closer to the city? There’s nothing keeping me back home anymore, besides my mom’s shitty old house, which has more sad memories than anything now. It’d be nice to be closer to Octavia. But not too close, or she’ll be mad at me for hovering.”

“Hmm. Sounds nice,” Clarke murmurs, tired and unwilling to get her hopes up. She flips onto her back again, tucking the covers around her.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

 

Clarke wakes up bathed in morning light, her arms wrapped tightly around Bellamy and her face pressed into his back. It’s not even surprising – she’s always been a hardcore cuddler.

He turns over a moment later, obviously trying not to disturb her, and she tries to make it seem natural that she’s now draped across him, her head on his shoulder. She opens her eyes when he starts stroking her back gently a few minutes later.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, leaning up on an elbow to look at him.

“Yeah,” he whispers, meeting her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

He looks like he wants to say something that he can’t find the words for, and Clarke suddenly can’t take his soft brown eyes for another second. She flops onto her back, away from him, and stares at the ceiling.

“When you moved home to help your mom and take care of your sister,” she says, before she can second-guess herself, “and you never talked to me, except for that very first phone call, and you were so closed off and bothered…I stopped trying, after a while, because I thought that maybe I had just…misjudged what we had. That maybe, even though I thought of you as my best friend, that I wasn’t yours, or that that didn’t matter to you. I mean, we _had_ only known each other for a year. I started to think I had miscalculated everything, that it just all meant more to me than it did to you.”

Bellamy scrubs his hand over his face. “And when _you_ stopped trying, I thought that you had moved on. That’s not…that’s not how it was for me, I swear. You didn’t misjudge anything. God, I’m such a dick,” he says, cringing. “I just – I was so screwed up, and I had all of these plans that were suddenly derailed, and I thought that you deserved better than to have to deal with me and all of my messes. I didn’t want to put you through that, or be a burden for you.”

“I wanted to though,” she says. “I wanted to see you through the worst of it. You should have let me.”

“Yeah, I should have. Lord knows how much better things would have been with you there with me.”

They’re quiet for a moment, while Clarke gathers the courage to speak. “What are the chances that you would just, end up here like this? You didn’t even know that I lived here, right?” She waits for him to nod, which he does. “But your car broke down by the exit to my town, and all my neighbors are either gone for Christmas or total scrooges, so you knocked on _my_ door. I don’t really…” she trails off, and Bellamy leans up on an elbow to see her face, which is scrunched in concentration. “I don’t really believe in fate, you know? But…”

He leans closer to her. “But maybe on Christmas?”

She smiles, soft, and repeats it, just a whisper, “but maybe on Christmas.”

He leans down, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to press his lips against hers, and even easier for her to kiss back in response, pushing a hand through his hair and tugging him closer. Her heart soars.

“I can’t believe,” she mumbles, barely breaking away from him, “we didn’t get to do this a year and a half ago.”

He keeps kissing her, short drags of his lips that have her leaning up to catch him again as he laughs.

“But I wasn’t–” she’s cut off for a moment by his mouth sucking gently at her neck, a small whine slipping up her throat in response.

“I wasn’t waiting for you, this whole time, okay?”

He pulls back, looking smug. “Okay.”

Clarke continues, “I wasn’t sitting around hoping you’d come back. I didn’t put my life on hold because of you, or anything.”

He reaches for her face, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone.

“Good,” he says, and leans down to kiss her again.

He nibbles at her bottom lip, his heart pounding at the sound of her short breaths and the feeling of her body pressing up against his.

“So,” he brushes his lips across her forehead, “do you want to have Christmas with me next year?”

She shoves at his shoulder, smiling stupidly.

“Yeah,” she says, meeting his eyes, her face growing serious. “I do.”

He grins. “Good. I’m counting on it.”

 

The roads are plowed the next day, and Raven, who Bellamy learns is actually the town mechanic, fixes his car. She makes fun of him, because apparently the problem was something ridiculously simple, and if he only had the slightest knowledge of cars he might have been able to fix it himself and get to the city on Christmas Eve.

Bellamy’s not bothered though. Clarke tells him she likes that he breaks gender stereotypes, and his uselessness with cars landed him right on her doorstep, so really, she’s pretty grateful. And he feels pretty damn lucky.

“Merry Christmas to _me_ ,” she jokes, when he kisses her under the mistletoe every chance he gets, and he can’t help but agree.

A merry Christmas indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think if you have a chance!


End file.
